Dead Girl, Walking
by CastlesInTheAir
Summary: Post-ep for 05x14 Tomb. Perhaps the memories of what had happened over those few fateful days were hazy to Chloe, but there was no doubt they were still there, buried deep in her mind. They were just waiting to be remembered. Rated for episode themes
1. Dead Girl, Walking

**Author's note:** Hiya. If you're reading this, then thankyou very much for clicking the little link that lead to my humble story. Molte grazie! 

So anyway, this is a post-ep for 05x14, Tomb, the one where Chloe sees a dead girl, and ends up possessed. I know it's an old episode, but I've had this sitting on my hard drive for a while now and only just dug it up. Here it is, for your personal viewing pleasure. It deals with the repercussions of a very intense episode – really, that was serious stuff! I thought Chloe could use a little more than 5 seconds to deal with it all, which is so often the only time they're given on Smallville to handle intense emotional situations.

Think of it as a literary kindness. Enjoy. Please review. I love it when you do, very much… possibly too much…

**Disclaimer: **No, it's not mine. What wouldn't I do if I had ownage of Clark Kent…

-----

**Dead Girl, Walking**

From the moment Chloe switched off the lights and climbed into the familiar bed of the dorm room she shared with Lana, she was infinitely thankful for the absence of hard restraints. The room was a bit small, perhaps, and the décor a little too bright and mismatched in an 'I'm a poor college student' sort of way, but what did she care? It was hers, and it wasn't the psych ward. That was all that mattered.

She heaved an almighty sigh, and pulled the covers up to her chest. She wasn't tired. Not really. Sleep was way overrated, in her books. And after all, she reasoned as if it explained everything, she _was _Chloe Sullivan. If there were a Caffeine-holics Anonymous, she would be their worst offender. And, if it had been up to her, (which it wasn't, by the way,) she would have been pulling an all-nighter at the Daily Planet, updating her Digital Wall of Weird or doing some good, solid web-based research. Something along the lines of spectres from the other side possessing the living via meteor rock. Her fingers were itching for the touch of a mouse, the soft glow of a desk lamp and a warm cup of coffee. In fact, Chloe wouldn't have been at all surprised if at any given moment her eye would started to twitch, and the pangs of withdrawal would slowly set in. But the fact that she was, at this very moment, lying in bed – and at a relatively reasonable hour, too – was testament to her new and improved sleep regime. Which included, amongst other things, sleep. 

And boy, was it going to take some getting used to.

It was all her cousin's doing. Well, that and her deceptively innocent roommate, but somehow Lois was easier to blame for things. 

In the end, Chloe suspected with her well-honed investigative instinct, that it was Lana who had invited Lois around to their dorm that afternoon. Whereupon General Lane's eldest daughter had proceeded to threaten that if Chloe didn't take good care of herself, she would have to come and do it for her. Every moment, of every hour, of every single day, until the day she died.

How could you argue with that?

That in itself was plenty enough to make Chloe promise to do almost anything short of taking to her beloved computer with a pickaxe.

It didn't seem to make any difference saying she felt fine. Chloe knew from a lifetime's worth of experience that there was no point arguing with Lois Lane, unless you were stupid, or you had a deathwish, or both. And, as much as she loved her cousin, there was only so much looking after Chloe could handle until she'd start to feel she really _was_ going crazy…

So, with a begrudging vow that she would take a hot shower, have a decaf coffee (thus rendering her favourite beverage entirely obsolete) and get herself a good night's sleep, Lois had finally gone back to Smallville – the one other place in the world where no one ever seemed to knock before entering, _ever_.

Was personal privacy really so much to ask? Even in Metropolis, where whatever happened behind closed doors should stay behind closed doors… because after Lois, the visitors had just kept on coming. Even Lana couldn't explain it, much to Chloe's disdain.

First there was Lex Luthor. After sparing a long and lingering stare for her roommate that really seemed rather juicy, he'd turned to her with his most calculating gaze. Typical Lex, try and psychologically persuade her that he could read her thoughts, straight off the mark. The good thing (or not so good thing) was that she was very experienced in the area of Luthor intimidation, and she was determined not to let it work on her anymore.

'You really shouldn't have come all the way out to Metropolis, Lex. I'm not about to press charges for being forcibly held in a medical facility against my will. I hope you know that.'

Topped off with a signature wry smile, who could beat that?

'I'm only concerned about your wellbeing, Chloe,' Lex had replied, slipping his hands nonchalantly into the pockets of his very expensive pants. 

'I hope you know that,' He'd added with a wry smile to rival even hers, stealing her own words straight from her mouth to give his that extra potency.

Chloe could feel the heat from his gaze penetrating her own, trying hard to get inside her mind, and catch her even slightly off balance.

It was almost working.

Chloe had found it nothing short of torture to bite back the sharp response on her lips that said 'Sure, because probing my mind in Belle Reve had nothing to do with your personal interests, Lex,' because somehow she knew that if she even so much as went there… she'd say something that she'd regret later. Or that Clark could never forgive her for. 

And she wasn't about to do that, not in a million light-years. 

He'd let his smile drop, clear blue eyes staring intensely into hers. _Down to business_, was the thought that crossed her mind as she met his gaze defiantly, eyes locked with his in a silent battle for supremacy.

'How did you escape from the Psych ward?' 

It was the question she'd been dreading.

'Because if someone else had anything to do with it,' he continued, 'then I should know. Just so I can assure the baffled doctors at the hospital that their patient didn't actually disappear into thin air. They're very concerned about you, Chloe. As am I.'

'I don't see why you, or they, should be,' Chloe had said, never once faltering in her gaze. 'I'm fine.' 

Lex's lips had curled. He'd looked so nonchalant, so dryly amused by these verbal antics, that only a handful of people could have ever guessed how deadly serious he was really taking this. 

'Somehow I had a feeling that would be the case.'

Chloe had smirked. Of course. What more should she have expected?

'And if you're so interested,' she began, 'in the way I slipped my wrists out of the hard restraints, hid behind the door and then escaped through it when the orderly came around with dinner, then why didn't you just check the video surveillance tapes?'

The smile had spread a little further across his lips. _Liar, _his eyes were saying.

'Oh, but that's just what baffled the doctors, Chloe. They couldn't seem to understand how every perfectly functioning security camera within a ten-foot radius of your room apparently stopped working within .05 seconds of one another. Can you explain that?'

Chloe's eyes widened, and she would have smiled in spite of herself – it looked like Clark had a lot to answer for. Instead she just shrugged and raised her eyebrows.

'Just lucky, I guess.'

Lex gave a short, sharp laugh.

'You must be one of the luckiest people I know.'

_Next to Clark Kent,_ thought Chloe dryly.

A movement. A single tilt of the head was all he gave, but it said so much. _I know who it was,_ his eyes told her, burning a hole through her own. _I know who did it. I know who rescued you._

'The best Psychiatrists in the world. They're yours, if you want them. Just say the word.'

Chloe took a deep breath. There was only one word she wanted to say to Lex, and it most definitely wasn't yes.

'Thanks, Lex, but… no thanks. I'm fine.'

'Of course.'

A fleeting smile had flickered across his lips, and with one, last intense gaze, he'd searched her face, as if trying to find a crack in the surface of the mask she was wearing. Chloe had stood there, defiant till the very end, desperate to win… then finally he'd nodded his goodbye to Lana, and retreated through the open doorway, passing with a smile the poor, blonde, bewildered girl in the hallway who couldn't seem to comprehend why the richest man in Kansas had just exited Chloe Sullivan and Lana Lang's dorm room. They must have been so much better connected down in Smallville then she'd ever imagined… 

The well wishes had just kept on coming. Lionel Luthor had sent an e-mail. A short note that she couldn't help but feel more than a little creeped out by, especially when it said 'I heard that you weren't feeling too well, Miss Sullivan. I understand the pressures of having much expected of you…' Chloe wasn't sure just how well he _did _understand, but one thing was for sure, nothing ever got past the Luthor collective conscience. Especially not when Chloe Sullivan's grip on reality went AWOL. She'd decided not to reply.

Her Father had sent flowers, when he'd heard she wasn't feeling so hot. Beautiful pink and white clusters, that filled the room with a soft, rosy scent. They were pretty, and it was sweet that he wanted to do the loving father thing when he knew she didn't have a boyfriend to do it for her… Sweet, but not really all that helpful. A lot like him in general, really. As Chloe breathed in the fresh fragrance, she wondered if she'd ever have the heart to tell her Dad what had _really_ happened to his only daughter. Could she tell him, after what he'd been through with her mother, that his little girl had finally cracked and started seeing things that no one else could see? 

Could she tell him that after all these years, she'd finally gone to see _her_? 

The only other person who knew she'd been to see her mother that morning was Clark. And he was the only one who hadn't dropped by to visit yet.

In a strange way she was glad, but then again… not.

Chloe closed her eyes, sinking her head back into the cavernous pillow. The memories of that morning were still freshly engraved in her mind. Just like the scars on her wrists, which she supposed would be there for a while yet. They were like horrible souvenirs she'd woken up with, and been too drunk to even remember buying. 

At least she'd been spared that much. 

She'd stayed with her mother that morning right up until visiting hours had ended. That was the longest time she'd spent with her since... well, since when she was a little girl. And even those memories were tainted, fraught with fragmented recollections of standing on itchy carpet and holding her breath, peeking through half-closed doors to see her mother lying motionless on the bed, sobbing uncontrollably, or sitting by a window in heavy silence.

She'd never imagined, when her mother had gone, that the next time she would see her would be in the sanitised environment of a Mental Institution, and that they would both be adults. And that for the first time in far too long, her mother would hold her tight, as she, the daughter, began to cry. Everything she'd tried to put away after her Mom had left. Every childhood fear, every painful memory of loneliness, every time she'd ever felt even slightly less than enough, poured out in the tears she discovered she hadn't _really_ cried until now…

Chloe squinted through the darkness at the glowing red digits on her alarm clock. It was getting late. Even Lana had long since abandoned her books and was now sleeping peacefully across the room. Chloe listened to the even rise and fall of her roommate's breathing. Not for the first time in her life, she wondered what it would be like to be Lana Lang. To be beautiful, to be desired, and to know that despite the fact your parents were both gone, you could still be sure they were always watching over you, in a cheesy, sentimental sort of way… and that the memories you had of them would remain of wonderful, loving people, safe in your mind forever.

Because the thing that had scared her most for so many of those awkward, teenage years, was that she'd gone to bed at night frightened to think that if her mom had loved her just a little bit more, then maybe she would have stayed.

Chloe closed her eyes and sighed, breathing in the flowers' perfumed scent. She was determined that tonight would not be one of those nights. She would not wallow in despair. Especially not now that she was a big girl, who had been running her life perfectly fine up till now, and who had no need whatsoever of parents, or of rich benefactors, or of psychiatrists, or of teddy bears with chewed off ears, or of purple mushroom nightlights, like the kind she used to have when she was five years old, when she believed that a purple light and a pair of warm, loving arms could make any problem go away…

Chloe's eyes snapped wide open. _Whoa, that's just too far. _She gave herself a sharp mental kick. _Purple mushroom nightlights? Please. Now is so not the time to revert to my childhood._

All the same, 20 seconds later, a pale hand snaked its way gingerly across to the nightstand. After a pause and a small 'click', the room was bathed in a soft, yellow lamplight.

Hey, it wasn't purple, but it was warm.

Chloe sighed again, and reluctantly sat up in bed. There wasn't much use in trying to combat insomnia when you practically thrived on sleep depravation and coffee. It was just a way of life. The more pressing problem, however, was this: how to keep herself occupied throughout her unofficial restraining order from the outside world, short of banging her head repeatedly against a brick wall…

Chloe paused. Her eyes scanned the room around her, just to check that each shadow was exactly as she remembered it. It was silly, really… but just the same. Couldn't be too careful. Then she slumped against the pillows, breathing out heavily through pursed lips. What to do, what to do? She couldn't sleep now, her mind was too active. She supposed she could try and count sheep, but then again she'd always found the mental image of little woollen creatures jumping fence posts in ordered succession late at night just a little creepy… 

No, what she needed was something to do that was so boring, she'd be snoring just by the mere thought of it. 

And suddenly, the perfect solution presented itself, sitting idly on her nightstand. A red, leather-bound folder, reflecting slightly the warm glow of the lamplight – begging her to just pick it up and read. 

Chloe managed an appreciative smile, recognising it immediately. She now remembered her cousin placing it down hurriedly before leaving. Good old Lo'… She never threatened the people she cared about without first giving them a ­_little_ help.

Chloe picked it up and opened it on her lap. It was perfect in all its plainness. Dull, mind numbing, repetitive… enough to make a grown man cry, and then some. It was something even Lois approached with fear and trepidation…

It was the Talon inventory. In hard copy. 

Inside the leather-bound cover was a small note, scribbled hastily in Lois' energetic handwriting.

'Hey cuz –

You know how much I hate small numbers. If you're going to be cooped up tonight, you could at least take your mind off things by doing me a favour.

Love Lois.'

Chloe couldn't help the wry smile on her lips. 

'Any time, Lois,' she muttered under her breath. Then settling herself down with a pen and calculator handy, Chloe started perusing the column marked expenses.

Her sharp, analytical mind thrived on logic, and the endless rows of small numbers didn't scare her one bit. It was the perfect thing to keep her thoughts off one hell of a day.

Just as she was trying to work out how Lois had added 45 and 178 together and gotten less than what she'd started with, a small envelope slipped from between the pockmarked pages and landed softly in her lap. Chloe frowned.

'Weird,' she murmured, as she picked it up and read the handwriting on the front. 'That's too neat to be Lois.'

She ran a slightly chewed nail – a very bad habit of Gretchen's she was glad she didn't have to endure anymore – beneath the seal, breaking it softly. Out of the envelope, she lifted a small, perfectly square card with mauve coloured flowers splashed across the front. 

'Interesting,' she murmured to herself. 'Purple…'

She thumbed it open, and her eyes fell upon the few short sentences written inside in beautiful cursive. 

'Dear Chloe,

'I hope you're taking good care of yourself.'

Chloe paused for a moment to think out loud, 'Depends on your definition of good care.' Momentarily, the image of a tall, steaming latte floated through her mind. She shook it off as fast as it had come, and continued reading. 

'Please consider this card an opportunity for me to say how I've always admired your integrity and commitment, ever since the day you first came home for dinner. Whether it's bringing people the truth, or just seeing someone for who they really are… it's a gift, Chloe, more than you might realise.'

Chloe took a deep breath. A strange lump was forming in her throat.

'I understand some secrets are harder to keep than others.

'Please know that if you ever feel the need to talk, I'm here.

'Love always, 

Martha Kent.'

Chloe slowly lowered her hands into her lap, staring blankly at the wall ahead.

Why? Something in the back of her mind told her that she shouldn't be feeling this way. That her stomach shouldn't be all churned up on the inside at the mere thought of this motherly kindness from someone who wasn't her mom. That she shouldn't be so worked up about something that she'd always seemed to manage without. But Chloe barely registered her own movements, as her fingers deftly closed around the card and slotted it back into the leather-bound book, closing it shut with a soft rustle of pages.

Chloe hardly noticed when her fingers moved to switch the lamp off, filling the room with darkness once again. She didn't even realise that she was slowly sinking down, curling herself into a ball, with the inventory hugged tightly to her chest. She didn't feel the metal-capped corners digging into her arms through her pyjama sleeves.

The first thing she felt was her lips, giving way to the tiniest of tremors, as she buried her face into her bedsheets. Then Chloe felt, rather than heard the smallest of sobs escape her tightly drawn lips… and then another, and another, until she found she couldn't stop, her chest heaving with the effort of each shuddering breath, crying herself to sleep in between the peaceful, even breathing of her roommate.

-----

The next thing Chloe heard was the distant sound of heavy, falling rain and the far away growling of thunder.

All around her was a blur. Dark colours and figures loomed in the edges of her vision, burlesque shapes that seemed to sway and tease her, staying just out of reach.

Slowly, gradually, Chloe managed to open her eyes. At first, everything was bright and seemed to be made of light… it made her dizzy, and she couldn't seem to tell which way was up, and which way was down. Then gradually, the lights swam into focus around her. Fanciful designs and fairy lights danced in the corners of her eyes, and dark colours and shadows loomed all around her, illuminated by the eerie flickering of candlelight. 

It was night, and she was alone, in the apartment above the Talon.

Gingerly, she sat herself up. Soft sheets pooled around her waist, and for a moment, Chloe felt like she was swimming in a deep, peaceful pool of soft, silky blue… part of her wanted to lie back down and stay there forever, lost in the endless peace… but somehow, in the back of her mind, was the constant, irritating feeling that she had to get up. 

With all the effort that she could muster, she grudgingly flung the sheets to one side, and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. 

Immediately, the floor felt cold to her bare feet. Cold and hard, as if the pool she'd been swimming in had suddenly turned to a lake of frozen ice. Somewhere in the distance loomed the fear that at any moment, a cold hand might shoot out from underneath the bed and latch onto her ankle, pulling her with it into the shadows, while all she could do was scream…

Chloe shivered, and hurriedly jumped up from the bed, quickly putting distance between herself and her fear.

For the first time, Chloe realised that she was dressed in a stiff white gown, standard hospital issue. It felt as if it had just been ironed, pressed and starched, all in quick succession, and it was rough against her soft skin. She didn't like the feeling. Hard, and sanitary. Too clean. Mint green scrubs covered her legs, and she felt the vague notion of being very thankful she had pants on… and when she looked at her at her hands, stretching them out in her field of vision, they were pale and… perfect. She turned her arms over. Her wrists were clear. Smooth and pale, no imperfections or scars running across the pulsing veins. She ran her fingers over the smooth, pale skin, marvelling at how supple the unblemished flesh felt to her touch.

_Crash._

Chloe's heart skipped a beat. The sound of hard, metallic surfaces clanging against each other snatched her away from her upturned wrists, and locked her frightened gaze on the bathroom door. Inquisitive green eyes widened. Her heart pounded in her chest, beating a hundred miles a minute. Slowly, ever so slowly, she began to edge her way towards the door. Better judgement told her she should run away. Better judgement told her that unless she was as indestructible as Clark Kent, she should high tail it out of there. But Clark wasn't there, and since when had she listened to good judgement? Her most base, primitive compulsion to know the truth drew Chloe instinctively to the sound – like a moth to the flame.

She couldn't back away. No matter how scared she might have been.

'Lois?' She called out, edging gradually forward. Her voice echoed and bounced backwards, haunting her fifty times over.

'Lois?' Chloe called again, listening for an answer. 

Another loud crash sounded behind the bathroom door, and Chloe almost jumped out of her skin. She gathered herself, and continued searching her mind for the answer.

'Lana?'

No reply. She was running out of names to call. More smashing, and the sound of soft, muffled whimpers.

'H… Hello?'

Chloe felt the fear rising in her gut. Her first impulse was to call out the name of the person she knew could save her from anything.

'Clark?'

Even though every part of her mind screamed at her to stop, Chloe couldn't. Her heart told her to keep going. Her legs inched forward on the cold floor, and the smashing sounds grew louder as she neared the door.

This was it. It was now or never.

She was barely a foot away. Chloe reached out a shaking hand towards the door. In one single, decisive moment, she whipped her hand forward, closed her fingers around the doorknob, and turned. 

Instantly, the noises stopped. 

Silence hung, thick as water, in the air.

Chloe took a deep breath. Everything was still, and she could practically feel the hair at the back of her neck standing on edge. Slowly, very slowly, she edged the bathroom door open, with an almighty creak. 

Chloe peered around, wide-eyed.

Darkness.

'Hello?' Chloe called into the empty shadows. 'Hello? Anyone there?'

Chloe stepped inside the bathroom. So far, so good. It was probably nothing more than her imagination playing tricks on her. No one was here. 

Chloe had barely gone more than a few feet, when she felt her toes slip into something warm and sticky.

Chloe stopped short, suddenly feeling strangely dizzy. She looked down, and what she saw made her stomach lurch. 

On the bathroom floor, were footprints, glimmering blood red in the flickering candlelight. 

Chloe began to breath heavily, eyes widening. She strained to look away, but she couldn't. The dancing light entranced her, as it glimmered across the blood-smeared floor. Her eyes remained fixated in horror on the crimson stains, watching them as they faded into the shadows – and before she could even think what she was doing, she was following them. She was tracking them feverishly. Her only thoughts had become for whoever had left them behind.

'So much blood, it's everywhere…' she muttered to herself, 'I can see it all, everywhere… so much…'

'I'm coming!' Chloe called out, her voice frantic. 'I'm coming, don't worry! I'm coming to help you!'

The shadows pressed in around her from all sides, but she fought them back. She had to press onwards. She had to find the person who had made the footprints. She had to find them, had to help them. Everything was getting so dark… so dark she could barely see. Tears of frustration gathered her eyes, and she tried to sweep away the shadows with her hands, but instead she fell face first, landing with her hands in the sticky, red mess of the bloody footprints.

Chloe sat up feverishly, gazing in horror at her hands in the candlelight. So much blood, it was everywhere. She had to get it off. She shook her hands violently, but it didn't work. It was still everywhere. She tried rubbing them on the floor, but if wouldn't come off. Her breath came in short, sharp rasps as she desperately tried wiping them on her pure, white gown, but that only made it worse – tears of frustration leaked down her cheeks, as each furtive wipe only made her more and more dirty, more and more stained. It was no use. He hands and feet were streaked red, and her pure white gown was soaked with crimson blood.

A clash sounded suddenly through the darkness, and fear and panic rose in Chloe's chest.

'I'm here!' Chloe cried as spun about on her hands and knees, searching frantically in every direction. 'I'm here, where are you!'

Silence.

'Tell me where you are!' Chloe screamed into the endless shadows. 'Please!' 

'Please,' She begged softly, as her voice broke into a sob, and she hugged her knees to herself, crying softly in the darkness. 

'Please… tell me I'm not alone…'

She so felt alone. More alone than she had ever felt in her entire life. She hugged herself even tighter and shivered at the thought that no one could hear her cry…

And then suddenly, without warning, a voice whispered quietly in her – breathing softly, as cold against her skin as the hard, bare floor.

'I'm here, Chloe.'

Chloe froze. Her breath caught in her throat. 

'Look in the mirror, Chloe.'

Chloe twisted around. Hanging behind her was a mirror, flickering in the candlelight. She hadn't seen it before. Mesmerised by the way the light reflected from the glistening surface, and by the cold, haunting voice in her ear, Chloe got onto her hands and knees and crawled, edging closer and closer to the dancing surface. Her breath came in short, sharp sobs.

'Look into the mirror,' repeated the voice. Hypnotised by its power, drawn towards the promise that she was not alone… Chloe obeyed. She crawled towards the mirror, reaching out a bloodied hand as she moved closer and closer.

'I'm here.'

Chloe stopped. Heart pounding in her chest, she lifted her gaze, and stared into the mirror's watery depths.

Pale, tear-streaked skin, tangled blonde hair and fearful green eyes stared forlornly back at her. 

'That's me,' Chloe whispered softly underneath her breath.

It seemed that no matter how softly she spoke, the voice in the shadows could hear her.

'Look again, Chloe.'

Chloe shut her eyes.

'No.'

'Chloe…' The voice was coaxing, powerful. 'Look again.'

There was nothing else she could do. Chloe opened her eyes.

Her scream tore through the silence.

Staring back at her from within the mirror's depths was a desperate, sunken, pallid face. Pleading eyes widened in horror. Hollow cheeks caved in on themselves, white hands reached up to feel them, to claw at them in despair, and darkened lips opened wide in a shriek of terror, although Chloe felt the sound come from her own lungs…

Staring back at her was Gretchen.

Chloe threw herself backwards, falling onto the hard ground in her hurry to get away. She shuffled along the ground on her back, grasping at her face and hair, shielding her eyes from the mirror, trying desperately to erase the cold image of Gretchen from her mind. 

It was no use. Gretchen was everywhere… she was behind her, in front of her, screaming inside of her. Chloe whimpered, as the voice whispered softly once again in her ear.

'I am you.'

Chloe shook her head feverishly, shielding her face with her arms. 'No. No!'

'You are me.'

'No!' Chloe cried, feeling the word come from every fibre of her being.

'Together… we are alone.'

'NO!' Chloe screamed. She couldn't stand it anymore. In a fit of rage, she leapt up, grabbed the mirror between her bloodstained palms, brought it high over her head and hurled it against the ground with all her might. 

The sound of the mirror shattering was the most terrible, painful sound Chloe had ever heard in her life. It was like a thousand screams, each fragment of the shattered mirror resonating in the darkness and attacking her, pounding in her head. Every lost soul that had ever lived and cried out in agony… all resounded in her ears, pounding inside her mind. Chloe pressed her hands to her temples, trying to block out the terrible cacophony of sound, but it was too much. She bent over double with the pain.

Then as soon as it had started, it was over. In an instant, all was once again quiet. Chloe lay, surrounded by silence, encircled by the dancing glow of a thousand candles. She gazed around in confusion. The mirror was gone. The screaming was gone. She slowly lowered her hands from her ears as she realised she was once again in the bathroom of the Talon. Slowly, she placed her hands on the floor and lifted herself onto shaking feet.

What was going to happen to her now? She glanced around at the teasing flames, every trace of her bravery gone. She had never felt so alone in her life. There was no one to save her, no one or nothing that could possibly rescue her from whatever cruel happening fate had planned for her.

Or was there?

'Please, help me!' Whispered a voice, soft and pleading in the darkness.

Chloe whirled around. 

Standing before her was Gretchen, holding out her wrists. Translucent tears fell down her ashen cheeks, and deep crimson gashes streaked across her pale forearms. 

Chloe looked at her own pale, smooth skin, and shuddered.

'Help me!' Gretchen pleaded again. 'Please…'

Chloe could sense the intense feeling of helplessness start to consume her, but she was too tired to fight it. So tired… It slowly enveloped her, until it was the only thing she could think, feel and breath. There was nothing else. Only loneliness.

Chloe reached out her hands, holding them towards Gretchen. She was weak – so weak with despair; it was the only thing she could do. 

'Help me…' someone whispered. Chloe was no longer sure whom. She was so weak, so tired, so far away from her herself, that nothing else mattered…

As their fingers touched, the poor dead girl seemed to float through her and disappear once again. Chloe knew what she had to do. She sunk to her hands and knees and crawled across the floor, dragging herself along with each painful movement. Her fingers closed around a cabinet door, and she pulled it open. Inside was a fresh razorblade, still unused. She grasped it, and heaved her tired frame into a sitting position against the wall. There was only one way to release the pain and the loneliness.

Deftly, as if she had done it all her life, she held the blade to the soft flesh on her forearm, and pressed down hard…

-----

**Endnote: **This is not the end! There's more to come. So talk to me… tell me if you loved it, tell me if your feel your eyes are forever soiled by it, tell me if you like cookies. I do. Kryptonite flavoured. J


	2. Mad World

**Author's sincere apology: **I confess, I'm not worthy of the title 'author'. I'm so sorry if you've been waiting ages for the next part of this fic… I figured better late than never, so here it is. I should warn you, however, if you haven't already guessed… I'm not good when it comes to extended fics. I'm a terrible perfectionist and procrastinator, and often find it agonising to complete anything more than a one-shot. As such, I post at very (extremely) irregular intervals. If you're willing to bear with me, though, I will do my utmost to complete this fic. I hope you enjoy it. And by all means, slaughter me for keeping you waiting. I probably deserve it.

**Author's disclaimer:** Don't own. I only borrow. Playing with other people's characters amuses me, and generally results in no profit anyway, so please don't sue.

Mad World

'AAAGGGHHHHH!'

Chloe screamed, wrenching her body upright so fast that, for days afterwards, she wore she'd given herself whiplash.

Sweat, pyjamas, bed sheets and pages with small numbers on them exploded in flurry all around her, and she fought through them with the hurricane force of a girl in pure terror.

Before she realised what was happening, a pair of incredibly strong hands had her by the shoulders.

And they were shaking her. Hard.

'Chloe? Wake up!'

Her head bounced around like a rag doll, and for a millisecond it occurred to her that the world, or quite possibly her life, was ending.

'Chloe!!'

Chloe's head fell forward, and she opened her eyes. The world was blinding. All she could see was light, coming from everywhere and yet nowhere all at once…

And then suddenly, the only thing she saw was a pair of clear, blue-green eyes, inches from her own.

Her eyes widened.

Without even thinking Chloe flung her arms out wildly in front of her, smacking the intruder hard in the face.

'GETOFFME!' she yelled at the top of her lungs.

A scuffle ensued. Chloe hurled her arms about and shouted for all she was worth, terrifying images filling her mind… being held down by unfeeling hands, indifferent voices telling her to stay calm and a cold, sharp needlepoint fumbling to stick her in the arm and steal her consciousness…

There was no way that was happening. Not again.

'Chloe, it's okay! It's okay.'

But something was different.

There was no clinical, sanitised hospital smell. There were no voices. No needles. Only… warmth. The faint smell of fresh hay, new timber and home fabric softener. And warm hands: slightly hesitant, and infinitely gentle. As if they were trying their very hardest not to break her.

Chloe stopped struggling. She sat still in bed, chest heaving from exertion.

Directly in front of her, so close he was practically sitting on top of her, with two strong, perfect hands gripping either side of her head and holding her firmly, was Clark Kent.

His eyes were wide, scanning hers rapidly back and forth, as if for some sign – any sign – of life. For the briefest of seconds, Chloe thought she saw some strange emotion flicker across the eyes of her best friend, something she wasn't used to seeing in him.

Was that… panic?

But as quickly is it had come it was gone, and Clark was his usual earnest, heroic self, concerned only for the safety of his friend.

'Chloe, are you okay?' He asked, voice intense as his gaze.

'Clark…' she breathed, in barely a whisper. 'I…'

'Are you okay?' He repeated, never once wavering from his objective.

'I… I think so…' she stammered, 'What are you doing here, Clark?'

'Chloe, you're not okay…' he said, completely ignoring her question. Typical Clark. Make this all about the other person… But then she watched him glance downwards, and suddenly she was all too aware of her pale cheeks, her tired, dark-circled eyes and her hot, clammy skin…

And for just a second his gaze faltered.

'I heard you screaming.'

Chloe's heart skipped a beat.

'Screaming?'

'I was worried about you.'

'I… I'm okay.' She said, voice trembling.

'Stop saying that, Chloe.' Clark furrowed his brow, and looked at her in the way only Clark Kent could. Those eyes… she was sure they could see right through her in more ways than one…

'It was just a bad dream, Clark.'

'I think it was more than that. Chloe…' Clark leaned in even closer, if that was possible, completely ignoring the boundaries of personal space. He still hadn't let her go.

'What happened?'

'Nothing, it was a dream!' she stammered, mainly because for once in her life, Chloe Sullivan, journalist extraordinaire, was lost for words.

'It's okay, you can tell me…'

His voice was so earnest it almost killed her.

'Clark, I…' she began, trying to hide the tremor in her voice, 'I don't know if I can even _begin_ to explain…'

He sighed.

'Chloe…'

Even before he spoke her name softly, simply, like he was speaking to a small child, she felt the lump forming in her throat. Her heart was almost at breaking point.

Lines knotted her forehead, as if willing the tears not to fall. 'I'm sorry…'

She didn't know what she was apologising for. Maybe it was because she couldn't come up with anything better to say. Maybe it was because she didn't know if she could ever describe what was going on inside her. Or maybe it was because of that look in his eyes… that sad, worried look. With everything else he had on his mind, she was sorry she'd ever caused him a moment of worry in his life… poor, crazy Chloe, and her crazy life… surely she wasn't worth that much trouble.

'I'm sorry, Clark.'

It was then that his hands released her. At the sudden release of pressure Chloe shut her eyes, unexpectedly light-headed. But as she reached a shaking hand to wipe away the small droplets from her lashes in frustration, she felt herself being gathered close and soon her face was buried in soft blue plaid.

The sweet, dusky smell of hay, new timber and home fabric softener enveloped her, and for the first time in days she felt the safest she'd ever been in her life. The outside world vanished, and there was nothing. Nothing but his heartbeat, and the protective warmth of his arms. It was then that she finally let go of a sob, and let the tears soak freely into his shirt, somehow knowing that he wouldn't mind at all.

'It's okay, Chloe.'

'Thankyou, Clark.'

It was the softest of whispers, muffled by his shirt, but Clark heard her every word.

He paused, not quite knowing what to say next.

'You're welcome.'

A comfortable silence ensued. And between fuzzy thoughts, Chloe decided to herself that this was the way to cry. Forget alone, alone was unbearable. Alone could turn a person insane.

Buried inside the arms of someone so familiar, the world was shut out completely. Suddenly, she was 14 again, sitting on the couch inside the Kent's loft, a soda in hand, her homework on her lap and a plate of freshly baked cookies between her and Clark, while they laughed, grinned and chatted about anything _but _homework…

Chloe held onto Clark, held onto the memory as long as she dared. But slowly, much to her dismay, it began to fade. Reality crept its stealthy way back again. She was older, wiser, different… and so was he. And she couldn't stay like this forever.

Regretfully, she pulled herself out of his arms, and wiped the remainder of the tears away. She gave a small half-laugh.

'Thanks Clark. This isn't how I usually start my day.' She gestured at her tear-streaked face and faded chequered pyjamas. She was pleased when she saw the hint of a smile on his features.

'I know.'

Then she frowned at him quizzically.

'What are you doing here, anyway? And don't tell me you were out for a morning run. Even if I was giving my lungs the workout of the century, I'm sure that even your finely attuned senses can't hear something like that all the way from Smallville.'

Clark gave her a mysterious look.

'Can they??'

He smiled. Relieved to see some color returning to her cheeks, and a hint of snark in her voice, he was starting to see the Chloe he knew.

'Well,' he began, 'for a start it's actually afternoon, and believe it or not, I was already here to see you.'

Chloe's eyes widened in panic.

'It's afternoon?!' She quickly checked the clock. Sure enough, the numbers were glowing 12:59.

'Oh my God, I can't believe Lana let me sleep that long! I've got to get to class!' She pushed the sheets to one side, but before she could even set one foot out of bed Clark grabbed her by the arm.

'Whoa, hold on! It's okay, Lana had someone take notes for you.'

Chloe looked less than amused.

'Take notes _for _me?'

'She called this morning to say you were the most asleep she'd ever seen you… well, actually, she said it was one of the only times she's ever seen you sleep, but-'

Chloe raised an eyebrow.

'Let me guess, she asked you to come over while she was gone and keep an eye on me?'

Clark looked at her somewhat sheepishly.

'In other words,' she continued, 'watch me like a hawk.'

When Clark didn't reply, Chloe gave a small smile.

'I have to say, I'm impressed. She's gone to a lot of effort to keep me under constant surveillance. Perhaps she and Lois should start a business.'

'She's worried about you, Chloe,' said Clark, 'we all are.'

'Well, to be honest, I'm starting to think this is all getting to the point of overkill, but…' she sighed. 'Thanks, Clark.'

'You're welcome.'

She smiled. As always, it was infectious, and before too long Clark was smiling back. Then she slumped backwards against her pillows, as if finally admitting defeat. At the same time, however, she cradled her hands, a look of pain passing over her face.

'Are you okay?' Clark asked instinctively.

'Yeah,' she winced. 'That's the last time I try to box with a wall of steel.'

He winced in sympathy.

'I'm sorry.'

'Hey,' she replied, 'I'm the one who should be apologizing. I hit you, remember?'

'It's okay. You didn't know what was going on.'

'Maybe so. But that's still no way to treat a guest. How long have you been here for, anyway?'

Clark glanced over his shoulder, and Chloe followed his gaze, noticing a suspiciously Clark-shaped ruffle on Lana's duvet, with an open, face-down book lying on the covers.

'A while,' he admitted.

'What were you reading?' Chloe asked, straining to see what was written on the dust-jacket.

'Oh, nothing, just-'

'_Posession: When The Other Side Takes Hold_…' she read out loud. She looked inquiringly at Clark. 'Well, I never would have guessed. Clark Kent, master of the Spirit World?'

'I… was just doing some, uh… research.' He confessed.

'And?'

'Well,' he began, 'It's mostly about how to unleash your inner psychic and open the channels of your mind, but…'

'But?' Chloe prompted, slightly bemused.

'…but they do say that those who are more attuned to the feelings and needs of others are more likely to be,' Clark coughed, '_at one_ with the universe. And that empathy makes you more in tune with the…'

He seemed almost embarrassed.

'With what, Clark?'

'the spirit world,' he finished with some discomfort.

Chloe gave him a sidelong glance.

'Clark, as much as I'd love to hear about the unexplored channels of my mind… I'm not sure that psychic readings are really your strength. And I'm pretty sure that the book doesn't take into account those glowing green things we from Smallville know affectionately as "meteor rocks."'

'I know Chloe,' he said, 'but do you remember yesterday when you asked "why you"?

'Yes…' she said slowly, 'You said I…'

'…cared more about other people than anyone I know,' he finished. 'It's true,' he added, but paused suddenly, as if hesitant to continue.

Chloe leaned forward.

'What is it, Clark?'

He glanced up at her through dark hair.

'It's just that… maybe there's something more to it.'

'Like what?'

'Well… what do you remember, Chloe?'

'About what?'

'About… what happened.'

'I…' Chloe was dumfounded. 'I remember… being in the Talon… and Lois was there…'

Clark leaned in closer, as if being too far away would somehow cause him to miss a word.

'…I was having a shower, the lights went out, and then… nothing.'

'Nothing?' he asked, slightly worried about the look that had suddenly come over her face. It was as if… her eyes were clouding over. As if a storm were coming.

'Nothing. I woke up in hospital, and I couldn't remember a thing. I'm sorry, Clark.'

He leaned back again. 'It's okay, Chloe, don't worry about it.'

She hated the look on his face. It was as if he'd come so close to proving a hypothesis correct, only to have the whole experiment blow up in his face, so to speak.

'I wish I could remember, I really-'

Suddenly, Chloe stopped. She tilted her head to one side. Clark looked up at her, concern etching its way back onto his features.

'Chloe? Are you-'

And then there was a flash. In her mind, the flash of metal, the flicker of candlelight, the smell of fear. Chloe blinked, mouth open wide and reeling from shock.

'Oh my God…'

When her eyes found Clark's, they were wide.

'What is it?'

'I saw it, Clark.' Her voice was barely a whisper. 'I… I saw it!'

Her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath, and Clark was suddenly worried she was going to hyperventilate. He immediately closed the distance between them, grasping her by the shoulders.

'Saw what, Chloe?'

'Everything!.'

It was Clark's turn to stare in shock.

'You don't mean…'

Beneath his fingers, he felt a shiver course through her body.

'I thought all I could remember was being in the Talon, and then… then nothing.'

'What are you saying, Chloe?'

'I remembered it,' she breathed, 'all of it.'

The realisation hit him full force, like a hurricane.

'It was more than just a bad dream…' he said, watching in alarm as the storm in her eyes exploded in a tide of pure terror.

'It was a memory, Clark… my memory!'


	3. Hurt Before

**Authors note: **I put this story off for far too long, and what can I say other than: I am terribly sorry. If you havent figured it out by now, I am absolutely dreadful at finishing what I have started. Still, better obscenely late than never, I suppose. I dragged myself to the computer, sat down, and _made myself finish_. This is long overdue, and Im so very sorry. Again.

Im not entirely happy with it. Then again, Im never entirely happy with anything I produce. I figure its probably better than nothing.

I dedicate this to every fantastically-wonderful person who ever reviewed. You are all amazing especially if, after all this time, youve come back!

**Disclaimer:** Sorry, dont own any part of Smallville, or the characters within. If I did, I promise Id share them.

**N.B. **The final section of this chapter is a version of event's from Lois' point of view.

* * *

Hurt Before

"Hey, Lana, wait up!"

Upon hearing her voice called out across the courtyard, Lana Lang stopped firmly in her tracks. She turned around and lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. With a careful eye, she scanned across the milling swarm of students, all carrying satchels and brightly-coloured binders, searching for whomever had called her name.

"Lana!"

The voice suddenly appeared to her right, causing her to turn suddenly, and then flash a smile when she recognised its bearer.

"Sara, hi. How are you?"

"Okay, I guess," replied a tall, broad-shouldered girl, with tight, coffee-brown curls and bright hazel eyes. "How about you?"

Lana nodded hesitantly.

"Okay. Its been a heavy workload, but I think I'm getting there."

"That's what you get for studying astrology."

"Astronomy," Lana corrected.

"Sorry," The girl smiled, before digging a bundle of paper out of her bag.

"So, here are the notes from today's lecture. Any chance you could give them to Chloe for me? I would drop by, but I have tutoring this afternoon."

Lana smiled, and took hold of the freshly printed pages.

"Of course. Thanks again, Sara, Chloe will really appreciate this."

Sara was a classmate and sort-of-friend of Chloe's. When Lana had awoken that morning to find Chloe deep in sleep, she'd decided it was best to leave her that way. As for finding someone who could take reliable notes, Lana remembered meeting Sara briefly at a faculty party Chloe had dragged them both to, and also remembered that Sara was one of the few people in her course that Chloe held in high regard. They had a friendly rivalry, of course, but Lana knew that Chloe's respect was not handed out lightly. If she had to survive on second-hand notes, she doubted shed mind if they were Sara's.

"No problem, any time," Sara replied. "So how is Chloe anyway? She must be sick to miss class, and I mean really sick. Either that or really hungover, and I've never seen her hungover."

"Chloe is..." Lana hesitated, rather unsure of how to finish her sentence. After all, she barely knew Sara, but she did know that even the slightest rumor was likely to spread like wildfire throughout the journalistic department.

"Chloe hasn't been feeling herself the past couple of days," Lana eventually finished. Her knuckles tightened slightly around her books. It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth.

"That sucks. Did she catch whatever's been going around?"

"You could say that," replied Lana vaguely.

"Any idea when shell be back?"

"Well, you know Chloe," smiled Lana, "It takes a lot to keep her from doing anything. I'd say it wont be long."

"Great," smiled Sarah, her freckles bunching. "Anyway, I should go. Tell her I said hi, and that she beat me by two points in Professor Johnson's last pop quiz. That should help speed the recovery."

Lana laughed.

"Okay. Thank you Sara."

"Any time."

They each shouldered their bags a little higher, and with a brief wave goodbye, turned to leave.

"Oh and hey, Lana?"

Lana glanced back over her shoulder.

"Yes?"

"You know Chloe better than I do. Tell her she's wearing herself out, okay? Between school and her job at the Planet, tell her to try not to kill herself."

And with a brief smile, Sara slipped into the crowd.

Had she stayed, she might have noticed the instant Lana Lang's face turned a deathly shade of white.

* * *

Maybe this was it. Maybe this, of all things – of all the awful sensations a person could feel, maybe this was what it felt like to go mad.

Surely, Chloe thought, there could be no worse feeling than this.

The world spun. The colours of her dorm room blurred before her eyes, she supposed it must be from the tears. Surely she should have run dry by now?

She was vaguely aware that Clark still had her in his grasp. He might have even been trying to tell her something, but she couldn't focus. All she could see were pictures, horrible pictures flooding her mind, and there was nothing she could do to stop them.

She saw herself. She was observing herself, and yet seeing through her own eyes, as if trapped in a nightmare: a nightmare that was as clear as day.

Because it was not an ordinary nightmare, she now knew. It was real. This was how it had really happened.

"So many secrets..." she half-cried, half-whispered.

"Chloe?" Clark asked, and for suddenly she was snapped back to reality.

"Clark?" She responded, looking him tearfully in the eyes.

She saw him take a deep breath, and then, suddenly: "This is all my fault."

Chloe froze, breath catching in her throat.

"What?"

Clark released his grip and dropped his gaze, a pained expression twisting his features.

"If you didn't have to worry about keeping my secret..."

"No!" Chloe interjected, suddenly and completely and utterly horrified that he would even consider blaming himself. "This has nothing to do with keeping your secret, Clark!"

"Doesn't it?" Clark's gaze snapped up to meet hers. "The Doctor told me that you probably had a secret, one that you felt like you couldn't share. Maybe... maybe if you'd never known, this wouldn't have happened."

"Clark," Chloe pleaded, "Stop. This is not your fault."

"Isn't it?"

She took a deep breath, wiping the tears away.

"Clark, as hard as it is to believe, not everything is your fault. Sometimes..." she swallowed, "Sometimes I have to admit, it's hard. Sometimes I worry. But honestly..."

"What?" Clark asked softly.

"Honestly, I wouldn't change it for the world." She placed a hesitant hand on his arm. "You're my best friend, Clark. A secret between friends is not an unbearable burden. Trust me."

The pair stared at each other, the only thing breaking the silence being the distant sound of traffic.

It was Clark who finally broke the silence.

"Tell me what happened, Chloe?"

Chloe withdrew her hand. The memories (for she understood that they were memories, now) were swimming vividly on the surface of her mind. She wasn't sure yet if she wanted to remember them.

Clark seemed to sense her discomfort, and gave her a brief, supportive smile.

"No secrets between friends, remember?" He said quietly.

"I know," Chloe replied.

Staring into the eyes of her best friend, she had to remind herself that she knew just about everything there was to know about him. In Clark Kent terms, that was incredible.

And throughout their strange relationship, if he'd ever let her down, if he'd ever been anything less than she'd wanted him to be... she knew that no matter what, had always been there exactly when she'd needed him. He was her friend. And that no matter how far she fell, or how fast... he was always there to catch her. Always.

It was time to let the secrets out.

"Well," Chloe drew a deep breath, "I remember I was at the Talon. There was some sort of power shortage..."

* * *

_The Talon, a few days prior._

Chloe lit a candle, the soft glow flickering in the bathroom. She could hear Lois calling her name.

Chloe could see her reflection in the mirror out of the corner of her eye, but something was wrong.

When she looked up, she stifled a cry. There was Gretchen behind her. Poor, sad, scared Gretchen, reaching out to her, begging for help.

Chloe's face contort in horror, as she whirled around, the apparition walked towards her. A shiver ran down her spine as ice-cold fingers reached for her. She backed away, desperate with terror, but not quite fast enough. She felt an almighty shudder as Gretchen reaching for her, touched her, and walked straight through her.

And then there was darkness, and in the darkness was everything she dreaded. The fear, the horror, the unspeakable helplessness. It tore at her, consuming her from the within.

It was breaking her heart.

There were so many secrets inside of her, so many things lying just below the surface, yearning to be freed. There was only one thing left to do.

In the darkness, her fingers closed around something cold, hard, and metallic. She grasped the razor blade and, without thinking, press it hard against the soft flesh of her forearm.

It should have made her feel better. He'd promised it would.

Who had promised? Michael. He'd promised her.

But oh, how it hurt. She'd cried out, breath catching in her throat at the sharpness of the pain.

And then Lois had broken the door in and found her on the floor, with the red staining her wrists. She looked up and saw the fear and disbelief in her cousin's eyes, and all that she could do was utter, "Help me?"

* * *

Chloe Lois stared, mouth open wide with shock.

This couldn't be happening.

Was she really seeing her baby cousin staring at her with wide, terrified eyes, and was that really crimson blood dripping slowly from ugly gashes on her wrists?

No, please God, no. There must be some mistake.

Lois shut her eyes briefly, trying to mentally erase the picture before her. But when she opened them again, it was still there, real as ever.

Something was wrong. This was Chloe, and yet something in her eyes didn't seem like Chloe as she gazed up at her, terrified. This was happening, but something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Then Chloe gasped, a sharp intake of breath as she stared down at her wrists in shock, seeing for the first time the true horror of what she had done.

"Lois!" She gasped, looking up at her cousin.

Now _that_ was Chloe.

Faster than a flash of lightning, Lois was down on the floor, reaching out for her cousin and trying to find something to stop the bleeding.

"Chloe, what have you done?" she breathed. Her fingers came into contact with a fluffy white towel. She grabbed it, and packed it firmly down on her cousin's wrists.

"I don't know," Chloe said in shock, eyes flicking back and forth between her wrists and Lois. "The lights went out, then I was in the dark, and then... it hurts! Lois, it hurts..."

"I know, I know," Lois murmured and pressed down harder, trying not to notice the warm red seeping through the towel. "What's going on, Chlo?" Lois asked, placing a cautious hand on the side of Chloe's face, shocked to find it feverish to the touch. "Why did you do this?"

"I... I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean, I really don't know!" Chloe pressed her head back against the wall, gritting her teeth in pain.

"Okay. Hold on Chloe, I'm calling an ambulance. We've got to get you some help."

Chloe sat up straight, eyes wide.

"No! Ill be alright."

"Sit tight," Lois ordered, and reached a shaky hand into her pocket for her cell phone. "I'm sorry Chlo, but right now, you don't get a say."

Chloe swallowed, and leaned her head back against the bathroom wall as Lois dialed with one hand pressed firmly on the towel, and eyes never once wavering from her cousin. The instant Lois heard the voice after the dial tone, she pounced.

"Hello, 911? I need an ambulance..."

It seemed a lifetime until the paramedics arrived.

Lois didn't know how long she'd sat there, holding the blood-stained towel to Chloe's wrists. Minutes? Hours? She'd lost track.

The logical, calm-under-fire part of Lois' mind understood that the cuts weren't life threatening. Life as an army brat, despite its many downsides, had had its privileges; one of which was a basic knowledge of first aid. And so she saw that the cuts were clean, perpendicular to the vein and not too deep. With applied pressure, there was little chance Chloe was going to bleed to death.

Even so, the part of Lois' mind that was irrational, emotional and said 'to hell with logic' was deeply, deeply worried.

Staring at Chloe's pained expression, Lois felt the familiar anger burning inside her. Anger at any hurt befalling someone she loved. Anger at the paramedics for taking their sweet time. Most of all, anger at herself, for failing to do her duty. How could she not have seen this coming? She must have missed something. Why had she failed to look after that which she was charged with protecting?

What The General wouldn't say if he could see her now.

After an eternity, the ambulance arrived. Lois looped an arm under Chloe and helped her to her feet. She eased her carefully onto the stretcher with only a weak attempt at protest from Chloe, which bothered Lois. Usually her cousin would have been loathe to have been pushed around, poked and prodded without her permission.

Chloe was bundled rather unceremoniously into the back of the ambulance, in spite of Lois' persistent threats to the paramedics that they'd better careful with her cousin or else fear greatly for their manhood.

Finally, when Chloe was lying sedated in the ambulance and Lois was sitting beside her, wondering whether or not it would be stupid to hold her hand, all the other feelings she'd been suppressing until now floated to the surface.

Lois didn't usually cry much. It wasn't that she never had cause to, she just didn't have much patience for it; it wasn't the way she did things. Call her crazy, but she didn't really like feeling sad, lonely or helpless at the best of times.

However, it suddenly occurred to her that she now felt all three at once. With a brief moment's hesitation, she took Chloe's hand. After making sure that no one was watching, Lois took a deep breath, and cried.

* * *


	4. Streak of Madness

**A/N: **One final chapter to go, after this. If you're still reading, you're brilliant.

**Disclaimer:** Sure, I own Smallville. I'm also the Queen of England.

Streak of Madness

It was mid-afternoon at the Luthor mansion, and as was so often the case when he was alone, Lex was deep in thought.

He sat behind his desk, elbows perched on the edge; pale, slender fingers pressed together to form a steeple, and calculating blue eyes stared beyond the room in which he sat.

The soft glow of sunlight filtered through the magnificent stained glass behind him, bathing the assorted paraphernalia on his desk in warm hues of purple and red. Music played quietly in the background. His favourite: Schubert.

But for all apparent peace and calm of the mansion, and for all the outward appearance of silent contemplation, Lex could not seem to escape the fact that his mind was in turmoil. He was, all at once, intrigued and frustrated.

No, frustrated wasn't the right word. Luthors did not become frustrated. Frustration implied weakness; inability to change the current circumstances, or to at least deal with them effectively. Frustration was generally followed by a lapse in judgement, and a careless mistake. And if there was one thing Luthors were not, it was careless.

No, Lex was not frustrated.

He was, however, subject to an uncomfortable, burning sensation of annoyance, which he did not enjoy.

Lex had a keen sense for the inexplicable and bizarre (most likely inherited from his father, he was loathe to admit). This sense was, for better or for worse, coupled with an insatiable need to find an answer for everything that he could not explain (probably also inherited from his Father, he was furthermore loathe to admit).

Lex's curiosity was burning, it was almost into overdrive. And yet, he was getting nowhere. This was vaguely annoying, and this would not do.

He caught his mind wandering to a familiar place. It often did so, when current circumstances were not providing him with the answers he wanted. His mind turned to wondering why it was that he'd opted to stay in Smallville in the first place. Was it that he'd finally found a place where he had some semblance of belonging? People who accepted him for who he was, managing to befriend him in spite of his copious flaws? Tempting, but no.

Was it that he finally had a playground of his own, free from the tabloid circus of the city, and farther than ever from the far-reaching gaze of his father? No, definitely not. Smallville was not beyond his father's reach. He'd accepted long ago that precious little was.

Or… was it the tantalising mystery of the inexplicable? Strange occurrences that no one could give an answer for? Every single dark, weird, twisted thing that happened in Smallville, of all places. And the promise that if you could find an explanation, if you were curious enough (or crazy enough) to try and find the answer to the riddle that was Smallvile, that the result would be beyond your wildest imaginings.

Perhaps.

Was Lex intrepid enough to say that Smallville held the key to understanding the universe? No. But the key to understanding his own, strange existence?

After all, it had all begun here. Why, then, shouldn't it be that here was where he would find the answers he was looking for?

Perhaps that was what irritated him the most. He knew there were answers, there had to be. But somehow, they were all just beyond his reach.

Lex pursed his lips, and opened his laptop. As he did so, a name that had recently been floating through his mind more often than not came to the surface: Chloe Sullivan. He'd never considered her to be particularly extraordinary, until now. It wasn't that he was intentionally dismissive of her, he'd just never before had a reason to consider her at length. If it hadn't been for the recent events, he may have never taken an interest beyond a lingering feeling of indebtedness (their combined effort in putting his father behind bars sprang to mind), a certain admiration for her bravery and her desire to get at the truth despite the cost, and the fact that they apparently shared the same taste in friendships (one Clark Kent, and one Lana Lang, for example).

Lex was no stranger to mental illness. His family history, his own personal battles and his fondness for all things bizarre had piqued a fascination for psychological disorders. He'd spent his fair share of time observing and studying them. He'd had his own personal encounters with the demons of madness, and it had only served to confirm his long-held belief: in madness there was reason.

As to what reason, he wasn't quite yet sure.

Insanity, perhaps, revealed what was in the darker reaches of human existence, the unexamined corners of the mind. Science could study it, could observe its characteristics and behaviours all it liked, but could never fully explain why madness occurred. And although Lex was publicly dismissive of insanity as was the majority of people, he could not deny that it privately fascinated him.

But in all his experience, he had never seen anything quite like what had happened to Chloe Sullivan.

After typing in his password, he positioned the browser over a newly created file labelled 'Sullivan, C.' After a brief moment's hesitation, he clicked it open. Inside were various medical files, all easily obtainable, when one had the means and the knowledge of whom to bribe and whom to blackmail. After perusing briefly through the medical history, he came upon the most recent entry and read over it once again, just to make sure. Delusions, hallucinations, self-harm… nothing he couldn't have seen for himself. Immediately prescribed treatments were run-of-the-mill (i.e., sedatives) and yet… other symptoms that should have been there simply weren't. There was no apparent family history. No prior record of depression, anxiety or of any childhood disorders. Nothing… a clean record, psychologically speaking.

There was something worthy of note. At a certain point, her mother's medical records stopped short, as if she'd somehow ceased to exist. Interesting… and odd.

But not as odd, perhaps, as the fact that he'd gone to see Chloe just yesterday, and she'd appeared to be completely free of any signs or symptoms. Despite having no medical degree, he was certain that there was no disorder in the world where a person who suffered severe, repeated delusions could be completely cured in a matter of days – without any apparent treatment or follow-up. It just didn't make sense.

What was different, then, about Chloe Sullivan?

Perhaps, just perhaps, there was something there. Something hidden far deeper than the eye could see, something that was worth finding out.

And he was going to find it out, no matter how.

The fact that he had a certain level of admiration and respect for Chloe pricked his conscience slightly. So did the fact that certain people (including one Lana Lang) were very good friends with Chloe, and he was wary of doing anything to jeopardize his own friendships. But, as always, his burning curiosity was getting the better of him, and there were too many things left unexplained. Too many unanswered questions he was determined to answer.

He wasn't sure what he was hoping to find, but if he had learned anything from his father, it was that all knowledge gained was useful, one way or another. Knowledge was synonymous with power.

Lex reached for his cell phone. Firstly, he would find out where Chloe had gone, right after she'd tasered him at her dormitory. As the unpleasant memory crossed his mind, he felt a slight tingle to his flesh (and to his pride). He tried to suppress it.

He dialled, listening to the tone as Schubert's Impromptu No. 2 In E-Flat began softly in the background. He would find out what he was missing. To begin with, there was the issue of Chloe's mother. Where was her file, and where was she? She was another piece in the puzzle, another step closer to solving the mystery.

He would track her down. He would find out all there was to find about the Sullivan family, and then finally, he would watch.

One day, something would happen, and something would let slip. Whatever she was hiding, whatever was unusual about her… he would discover it. One day Chloe Sullivan would reveal her secrets, and on that day, Lex Luthor would be waiting.

"Charles?" Lex spoke at last, leaning slowly back in his chair. "It's time to call in that favour you owe. I need to find a person. Name: Moira Sullivan…"


End file.
